I Can't Unlove You
by EFAW
Summary: Unrequited love just hurt, and so, as he didn't want to live with the pain, he was going to run away. But somehow, he knew that even running away wouldn't squash the feelings inside of him. It was just too hard to stop loving... Oneshot.


This is a pointless songfic I wrote while baking in the high heat of summer, and since I finished it I figured I might as well post it for the faithful readers of mine out there. If I've got any…

Anyway…

Disclaimer: I own only the DNAngel manga and two of the novels. Otherwise, the characters are from Yukiru Sugisaki-sama's wisdom.

Oh, I also don't own Kenny Roger's lovely song _I Can't Unlove You_, shown here in italics. So no lawyers, because as much as I want to own them all, I don't.

I hope you enjoy the story!

**OOOO**

**I Can't Unlove You**

The little apartment was quiet, mostly, except for the occasional rustle of paper or whispered breath of someone who clearly wasn't sleeping, though they should have been. The walls were bare, and half packed boxes littered the floor, as though someone had started packing them and just gave up partway through.

_Postcards and letters_

_And pictures made to last forever_

_To be boxed up and tossed away_

In the one lighted room of the apartment, papers were rustling, as long, slender fingers went through them, shuffling them into piles, then taking those piles and shuffling them into other piles.

One of the piles had a picture on top. A stoic, blue haired boy with glasses stared solemnly at the camera, while a grinning red haired boy stood next to him. The next few snapshots all showed the redhead trying to make the bluenette laugh. Finally, on the last picture, the bluenette cracked a smile, and the redhead had his arms in the air, cheering.

A long time was spent looking at these pictures, before they were tossed into the box in front of him.

There were several letters. The ones written in the spiky, sometimes childish hand exuded happiness and excitement, while the few letters written in the more serious type were more somber, less inviting. Those ones had never been sent.

There were even a few postcards, of far away places, with happy writing scribbled on the back. Mostly just, 'We're here, hope you're doing fine,' sorts of notes.

A small smile passed over thin lips in remembrance, before these, too, were thrown haphazardly into the box.

_Knickknacks and souvenirs_

_In an afternoon, they're out of here_

_They'll disappear without a trace_

_But what they mean to me_

_Can never be replaced_

The next pile he turned to held stuff. All sorts of knickknacks and junk from all sorts of places. There were ticket stubs from movies they had gone to see, napkins from when they had met up in a café or coffee shop and just talked. There was an ugly candy shaped thing with eyes, soft and loveable, said the tag. That had been won after five dollars and thirteen tries at a carnival ring toss. He hated the thing, but had kept it, if only because amber eyes always lit up when they saw it sitting proudly on top of his bed.

There was a small, clay fox. It had been made in art class, during the one course of ceramics that had been taught. It wasn't very good, a little knobby all over, but somehow, it had the essence of a fox. The glaze was a rusty color, with a white tip on the tail and black tips on the ears.

He remembered that art class well. He had made a bird, sitting on a branch. It was glazed blue, and it was a beautiful piece. All the teachers said so. He had even garnered the praise he wanted.

He had destroyed it within minutes of bringing it home. He couldn't chance having it live.

The fox was the only remnant he had of that class.

There was an ugly paisley scarf, bought on a whim during a school trip to some remote place in the mountains. It had been given as a gag gift, wrapping the fox up to conceal his birthday present.

There was a bunch of other things. Recepits from places they went together and bought things, bits of paper with a phone number on it, though the number had been memorized long before. Lots of little things that somehow had a connection to the redhead.

There were even two feathers. One was white, the other black. Darker times, painful times, but still times that connected the two of them.

All went into the box, to be destroyed, disappearing forever.

_I can't unthink about_

_I can't unfeel your touch_

_I can't unhear all the words_

_Unsay all the things_

_That used to mean so much_

_I wish I could unremember_

_Everything my heart's been through_

_I'm finding out it's impossible to do_

_Oh, it's no use_

_I can't unlove you_

The next pile he hated. All of his little notebooks, all stacked up neatly in chronological order. He had bought so many notebooks of the same kind that if he went into the stationary store, the cashier knew immediately what he wanted, just by looking at him.

A soft smile crossed his face, and he picked the top one, the latest one, up off the pile, flipping it open to a random page.

His lines of tiny, meticulous writing, written, not only in English, but in his own shorthand, to confuse anyone who wanted to look, filled the pages. Some of it was about himself; most was about the redhead, pages and notebooks full of observations and inferences. Years of careful watching, and all he had to show for it was this writing, this constant, neat writing.

This book only had a few pages filled. The rest were blank.

The last entry was today's.

The rest of the pages would stay blank.

With a sigh, he picked the pile up, tossing those, too, into the box. He carefully did up the flaps, sealing them with packing tape, layers and layers, as though trying to seal something intangible inside, something he didn't want to carry away.

Standing, wincing a bit after all the hours of sitting on the floor, he picked up the box, moving into the study. There was a hidden spot behind the radiator that no one knew about. Maybe, if he ever came back, he would see if the box was still there, or if his hiding spot had been found by the next leasers.

Carefully, he slid the panel back over the spot, marveling slightly how exactly the box fit inside the little space. Then he shoved the radiator back in position, turning to the rest of the apartment. He had to pack up the rest of his boxes. Dawn was coming soon, and with dawn would come his redhead, to wake him and bring him to school.

He had to get away before he was delayed.

He **needed** to get away.

Three long, laborious hours later, he had all of the stuff he was taking packed up. Everything else, he left a note on the table for the landlord telling him it was fine to get rid of it. He didn't plan on coming back.

After a lengthy hesitation at the mailbox, he took a letter out of his pocket, shoving it inside the mailbox and flipping the tab. He didn't know when it would be read, but whenever it was, he planned on being long gone.

He gave one long, last glance at the apartment, feeling a twinge of regret at what he was doing. He could almost hear snide words whispering that he was being stupid, running away when he should be facing it head on.

He shook his head. Shards of the past had no place in the present now. He turned on his heel, climbing into the car and pulling out of the parking lot. He had a long way to go before dawn, and he needed to be gone ten minutes ago.

_Interstates and old songs_

_Like time they go on and on_

_I guess I could learn to do the same_

The sun slowly began sinking above the horizon as he pulled out of the apartment parking lot. Few were up at this early hour, mostly business men and women who didn't want to get caught in rush hour traffic.

Luckily, there weren't too many of them on the road. That would have made getting away all the more harder.

He drove in silence until he passed the roadside sign stating happily 'Welcome to Azumano.'

A wrenching at his heart made him pull off the side of the road, stop the car, and get out. He stared down at the peaceful little city, feeling a tiny string of regret. He bit his lip nervously, a habit he had picked up. Something about feeling pain when he thought he deserved it.

He sighed, doing something utterly foolish, he knew. But he couldn't help it.

He blew the little city a kiss.

Okay, he was blowing a certain person a kiss, but for all intents and purposes, it looked like he was tossing it to the city. He knew it would never be caught, would probably float on the wind for a bit before dying without a hold and disappearing forever. Just like his love.

But he felt just the tiniest bit better about it.

It would hurt. Hell, it was hurting already. Every step he took back towards his car made him feel sick to his stomach. He was leaving the only warm place he had known, the only love he had ever felt, the only **home** he'd ever known. But he had to do it. Even without that manical voice in his head, he knew his love would never be returned. So what was the point of staying? A friendship that stabbed him in the chest every second? A searing agony every time he was left behind, or brought along as the third wheel?

It would never work.

He knew that.

But it was a wonder how a wound with no blood could hurt so much.

"I love you," he whispered softly, turning back towards the city. Feeling a slight breeze brush over his face and body, he closed his eyes, spreading his arms. If he tried, he could almost imagine that he was flying, that there was nothing underneath him, nothing supporting him but the wind and his wings.

_I could wake up without you_

_These two arms not around you_

_Tell myself it's meant to be this way_

_No matter how I try some things I can't change_

At first it had been enough just to see him happy. Enough to hold him when it was needed, when things got a little rough and a shoulder was needed to cry on. But that forbidden fruit was so tempting, just dangling in front of him, almost within reach and miles away. He just couldn't take it anymore. But he knew… he knew if he didn't get it off his chest, he'd burst before he even got back in his car.

"I love you," he said, a bit louder this time. The release he felt when saying those words…

He took one last, deep breath, cupping his hands over his mouth, and shouted as loud as he could:

"I LOVE YOU! YOU HEAR THAT? I FUCKING LOVE YOU!"

A few birds took flight from a nearby tree, but there was no other sign that anyone in the city even heard him, let alone cared about what he said.

But it seemed to help. As he stalked back to his car, slipping inside behind the wheel, a small smile tugged at his lips. He knew his feelings would come back. How could they not? They were too strong to be repressed, too powerful to be destroyed. But for just this moment…

For this tiniest moment in time…

He felt he'd be able to make it.

_I can't unthink about_

_I can't unfeel your touch_

_I can't unhear all the words_

_Unsay all the things_

_That used to mean so much_

The letter was delivered later that day. In it, it explained exactly what had happened, why he was doing this, and why he needed to get away. All in that neat, precise script, written in a navy colored ink. This was the one letter that had been sent, out of dozens that had been written.

A soft, small gasp left a stunned body, and the small figure fell onto his brightly colored couch, the letter falling limply from his grasp to land on the ground, falling almost heavily onto the carpet.

That voice that had disappeared so long ago rose up again, a figment of memory, mocking him, asking him how he could have not noticed. The signs were all there! Everything fit into that tiny little puzzle.

His best friend loved him.

He had had no idea.

And now his friend was gone.

He sat there, in a stunned, almost mourning silence, until his mother came up and pulled him down to the dinner table, where he could barely eat a bite.

_I wish I could unremember_

_Everything my heart's been through_

_I'm finding out it's impossible to do_

_Oh, it's no use_

_I can't unlove you_

Years passed, times changed. People grew, relationships morphed for good and for bad, memories faded and new ones were made.

He was now an assistant art teacher at the collage, unsuccessful as a professional painter but always hoping for that one break. In the meantime, he would bide his time with his employment as a teacher. It wasn't the best pay or anything, but it paid the rent.

He was walking home in October when it happened: He saw a flash, the merest glimpse, of a pale ice colored blue.

Without a thought, he went sprinting after it, a heavy canvas in his hand, but he didn't care. Every time he saw that color, he chased after, only to be disappointed when it was some blue on a piece of clothing or something. Never the blue he was looking for. But he had to try.

The person was weaving through the crowds, getting away, but he wouldn't be lost so easily. With an extra burst of speed, he caught up at the light, grabbing hold of the person's sleeve. The person looked down, and a spark flew between the two of them.

A smile broke over the smaller's face. "It is you! I thought it was."

Cold, uncompassionate eyes softened, and a teeny tiny smile slipped out, fleeting as a ghost's breath. "It's good to see you," that soft voice murmured from ages past.

The smaller slowly dropped his hand, as though afraid the other would bolt, but the other just stood there, looking ever-so-slightly cornered and trapped.

"I got your letter."

A hitch of breath, a flicker of fear in those pretty eyes. "You did." It wasn't a question.

"You came back. You said you weren't going to."

The briefest spark of hurt in cold eyes, then it was gone, covered by a thin layer of ice. "You want me to go?"

"No!" The answer was brief and quick, much too quick, too desperate.

Blushing, the smaller shifted his grip on his canvas, looking down. "It's just…you swore you'd never come back. And you always kept your promises. But…I'm glad you came back. I…I missed you."

The taller blinked, swallowing a lump in his throat. "I missed you…too. That…that's why I came back. I tried, but I couldn't forget you. I just…didn't have to courage to come back before now."

"Why were you afraid?"

It was an innocent question, but a question the taller had been fearing since the start of the conversation. One he knew would eventually come up.

"Because of you."

"…because of my reaction, you mean. To what you wrote."

"Yeah."

There was a long, awkward silence between the two of them. The smaller was trying to work out what he was going to say, what he wanted to say, forming the words in his mind beforehand so they wouldn't sound stupid, or worse, display the wrong message. And the taller just wanted this torture to end. It had been a mistake to come here, he shouldn't have even made the trip, he was so _stupid_ sometimes…

Finally…

"I…I feel that way too."

The soft words of the smaller made the taller glance up quickly, searching for some hidden trick or deception. But that emotion-filled face only radiated an easy open honesty.

"What about your girlfriend?"

"We broke up a while ago. It just…didn't work out. We were too different, I suppose."

"I see."

Another, longer pause. Then:

"You mean it."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. I love you. A lot. I didn't realize it at first, but when you left…I missed you. I _really_ missed you. I thought I was going to break, it hurt so much. That was when I knew."

A small shadow of a smile ghosted across that perpetually pale face. "That means a lot."

"I know. It means a lot to me too." The smaller held out held out his hand. "Do you want to come with me?"

Slowly, hesitantly, the taller slipped his hand into the smaller's, fitting there perfectly, just like it had been made to rest there. They started to walk away, heading to where the smaller lived.

_I wish I could unremember_

_Everything my heart's been through_

_I'm finding out it's impossible to do_

_Oh, oh, it's no use_

_I can't unlove you_

"I love you, Dai. I never stopped."

"I know, Sato. I love you too."

**OOOO**

This was my first fic where there wasn't some sort of suicide attempt or near-death experience, so I hope it goes over well. It's a bit sketchy throughout the whole thing, I thought, but it was written in ninety degree weather while my brain was frying to mush, so I hope you can forgive me for how…strangely disorientedly it flowed.

I pray it wasn't too hard to figure out that the two characters were Daisuke and Satoshi. For once, I wanted to write a happy fic for them, as the only ones I've ever written before for them ended up with one of them dead or depressed. So I wanted them to be happy together, for the first time ever.

I wrote this with the intent that it started about three years after Dark and Krad got sealed away in the anime. So they'd have been about seventeen or so, which explains why Satoshi can drive away like that. Makes sense now that I think about it, but at the time I was writing it, my brain, like I said, was frying into bacon grease.

So, I hoped you liked it, no matter how sketchy it was. Even if you didn't like it, could you tell me what you thought? Review with love or flames, I like them all. Just let me know what you though about it, please?

Arigatou!


End file.
